


your heart in my hands

by chew_ie, teostra



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, First Christmas Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 23:39:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13177659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chew_ie/pseuds/chew_ie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/teostra/pseuds/teostra
Summary: Keith and Lotor spend Christmas together.“But you are here,” Lotor concludes, pulling back, studying him. Keith is, as always, honest to the bone. He presses his knuckles against Keith's bruised cheek in a gentle manner, testing the waters, and he's awarded a hiss.He continues, laughing, “A little worse for wear, but you are here.”“If you look at it that way, I guess.” Keith pushes the hand away, not in the mood for anymore teasing.“Don't be like that,” Lotor says, amused. “Let’s get you cleaned up, the holiday isn't over yet.”





	your heart in my hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kcgane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcgane/gifts).



> Prompt: Mistletoe. Lotor holds mistletoe over their heads because Keith is too short to reach up and grab it.

It’s 7:45 PM when Keith’s finished with all of his deliveries.

It’s 9:25 PM, over an hour later when Keith makes it to Lotor’s apartment.

He's a sorry sight, his leather jacket in frays, jeans stained with grime and blood, a smidge of dirt on his cheek that smears across the bridge of his nose. He feels like a giant, walking bruise — but none of that matters when Keith kicks his bike down with a huff.

The wounds are nothing compared to how he feels right now.

_You're a disappointment._

A failure, a disappointment, a letdown.

He gives his bag another check and afterward, with slumped shoulders, Keith trudges the long journey up the stairway instead of taking the elevator. His thighs are heavy and burning by the time he’s in front of Lotor’s door, but before he can even get one knock in, it swings open.

“You’re late.”

Keith forces himself to look up from the ground.

Lotor is dressed down, donned in a soft-looking maroon colored sweater and a pair of dark gray sweats. His long hair is tied back in a high ponytail, and his arms are crossed below his chest. There isn’t much of an expression on Lotor’s face, and that’s the most jarring thing for Keith.

He’s fought a war that could have ended the entire world. He’s killed demons five times his size. He’s led armies of men and women with more experience under their pinky than he’s gained his entire lifetime. He's even earned the trust and respect of one of the most vicious rebel groups in the lands of Altea, but somehow, social interaction still remains to be his hardest opponent.

“I know,” Keith says, biting the bottom of his lip.

They’re both new at this dating thing, so Keith doesn’t know what to expect. He’s used to exasperated sighs, disappointed looks, scrutiny under a speculating gaze, and _do you even know how worried I was_ under a hushed, broken breath.

Lotor merely tilts his head to the side and says, “You looked frustrated, come here.”

And Keith must've taken too long because there’s a large, warm hand tugging him by the wrist before he's completely embraced, consumed, swallowed in heat. He smells the faint scent of coffee as the door shuts behind him.

“I'm just frustrated at myself.” His voice comes out muffled, and he's cursing the Behemoth who threw him off his bike stand with the swipe of a tail. “I said I would be here by seven and here I am, two hours late.”

“But you are here,” Lotor concludes, pulling back, studying him. Keith is, as always, honest to the bone. He presses his knuckles against Keith's bruised cheek in a gentle manner, testing the waters, and he's awarded a hiss.

He continues, laughing, “A little worse for wear, but you are here.”

“If you look at it that way, I guess.” Keith pushes the hand away, not in the mood for anymore teasing.

“Don't be like that,” Lotor says, amused. “Let’s get you cleaned up, the holiday isn't over yet.”

 

 

**10:14 PM**

“ _Home Alone_?” Lotor asks aloud, looking through the DVDs stacked up on the coffee table. “ _Home Alone 2_? The boy is left at home again?”

“Something like that.” Keith shrugs — he may have brought them, but it’s Lance and Hunk who recommended them years ago. “There are two more after that, I think?”  

“Doesn’t sound that interesting to me,” Lotor declares, putting the case to the side in favor for the next one. “This one seems more appealing: _The Nightmare Before Christmas_? Are you fine with this one?”

“Shouldn’t _you_ be the one picking one out?” Keith questions with a frown. He leans back into the soft, plush cushions of the couch, looking like he’s going to completely submerge in it—that is, if the borrowed sweater doesn’t succeed in the task first. Even with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the hem still reaches mid-thigh.  

“And why is that?” Lotor looks at him with a raised brow.

“Because this is your first Christmas, isn’t it?”

“No.” Lotor shakes his head, snorting a bit.

“What?” Keith questions in disbelief. He can already feel his cheeks heating up, irritation bubbling from the depths. Then what even was the _point_ —

“No,” Lotor repeats, and with a smug grin, he says, “This is _our_ first Christmas, together.”

Keith chucks a pillow at him.

 

 

Keith falls asleep halfway through the movie, drool streaming down his chin, threatening to spill onto Lotor’s shoulder.

“You didn't wake me up,” Keith says, stretching out his arms and legs with a yawn.  

“You looked like you were finally relaxing,” Lotor answers in amusement.

The credits are rolling on the TV and it's past 12, Keith realizes, when he sees the digital clock hanging above on the wall.

**12:08 AM**

His bag.

Keith scrambles out from the blankets towards it, grabbing the godforsaken gift he fought tooth and nail to protect. The wrapping is far from spectacular but it's the inside that counts, all the months he spent nagging (at Kolivan) put into it.

He hands it over, reluctantly, but Lotor takes it in stride when he sees the grimace on Keith's face.

The present Keith gives him is as big as a shoebox. It’s dented at the sides and a bit lopsided, the glittering wrapping paper wrinkled, the purple ribbon half-way off.

“It’s not supposed to look like that,” Keith explains, scooting closer to rest his cheek against Lotor’s shoulder. “While I was making deliveries today, I wasn’t paying attention. I got caught off guard and didn’t see— _er_.”

His cheeks turn red. “The Behemoth chasing me. So that’s why.”

Lotor hums, holding the present in his hands as if it were the most fascinating thing he’s ever come across. “I’m glad you’re safe. How long did it take for you to wrap this?”

That's an odd question. Keith frowns, trying to remember. When he spent Christmas with his foster family, they often wanted him to join in with the festivities. But that was years ago, and the process of wrapping came awkwardly to him.

“Does it—does that even matter?” Keith scowls; he wasn't going to say it took him two hours to perfect it. “Just open it.”

“Oh, wait a moment. Here, open your hand.”

Keith does so and Lotor places a small, neatly wrapped little red box in his palm. There's a tiny bow on top of it, and Keith stares at it for the longest time.

“You didn't think you would be the only one gifting, did you?” There's a twinkle in Lotor’s eyes as he takes one of Keith's hands in his.

“Not exactly,” Keith replies, staring in awe at the little gift in his hand. He remembers their conversation before— remembers explaining to Lotor the gist about how Christmas goes, and how giving a gift is a choice, not an obligation. “You didn't have to.”

“I didn't have to,” Lotor says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Keith's ear. “But I did. So, Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Keith mutters under his breath, ears reddening at the soft gesture. He turns away, staring down at the small present in his hands.

“Open mine first.” It's more of demand than a suggestion, but Keith doesn't really find it in himself to argue.

Instead, he tugs at the bow and watches it come undone. He unwraps the gift with gentle care, his fingers pulling and tugging clumsily at the silver paper. Glitter falls like dust, clinging to his pants and hands.

The end product is a small velvet box.

“Did you get me jewelry?” Keith questions.

“Open it,” Lotor says, his own present on his lap as he watches Keith with quiet anticipation.

The box reveals a card, a keycard, and a small piece of — Keith picks it up, squinting at it. It's tiny, half-cylinder shaped, with small, intricate designing. “An earring?” 

“An earcuff,” Lotor corrects him, taking it from Keith's hand. He turns Keith’s head to the side by the chin, “You don't have piercings and you don't like having jewelry on your fingers, and I suspect you would easily lose any sort of necklace or bracelet.”

It clips on easily, pinching lightly at the lobe, but it looks good.

 _Gold_ looks good on Keith.

Keith reaches up to touch it.

“You're free to come and go,” Lotor explains, picking up the card. “You refused me before, when I asked if you would like to live here. Perhaps baby steps are the way to go.”

That was last month when Lotor asked him.

“Open mine,” Keith demands, setting the box to the side. “Please,” he adds, an afterthought.

Lotor doesn't respond but instead begins to unwrap the gift. He isn't like Keith who is careful and timid in his movements, but rather, he’s confident for someone who's been given their first Christmas gift. The paper comes in scraps, and Lotor lifts the plain box in his hands.

“Should I guess, like you did?” Lotor teases.

“No.” Keith jabs him in the side. “Continue.”

Keith's gift is obviously a knife of some sort, by the shape of it. It's wrapped with purple tissue paper and rubber bands, and it’s endearing.

In his struggle of removing it, three snaps by the rubber bands, he can see the silver of the blade and the reflection of his own eyes. It's a replica of Keith's dagger - the Galra one.

“This is yours,” Keith says quietly.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lotor's face is unreadable, but he holds the dagger as he would with something fragile. “Explain.”

“Trust,” Keith answers, “This is my trust, in you.”

“Your trust in me,” Lotor echoes. “Keith, when you didn't answer me last month, was this the reason for it?”

Keith nods.

“Yes — that and the card, thank you… Last month, I didn't say anything because I didn't want you to find out about it.” He nods at the dagger in Lotor’s hands. “The sword.”

“I see, so this means you did not reject my invitation.”

“No, I guess you can say I put it on hold.” Keith gives him a hesitant smile. “Do you… Do you like it?”

“Of course I do.” It's as if he were holding the world in his hands. “You gave me your heart.”

  

 

**1:00 AM**

“Oh, that’s right.”

Lotor gently pushes Keith off his shoulder and stands up, digging around in his back pocket. Keith stares at him, mildly miffed at the absence of a warm body, but more curious. When Lotor brings his hand forward, there’s a green, slim plant with a tiny red bow at its stalk — the same one that was on Keith’s present box.

It takes Keith a while before he understands Lotor’s implications, a blush creeping along his face with his dawning realization. Smirking, Lotor holds up the mistletoe high above him, giving it a slight spin.

“When you told me people kiss under a plant, it seemed quite odd,” Lotor starts, slightly shaking the mistletoe. He doesn’t miss the way Keith follows the movement with his eyes, unconsciously licking his lips. Lotor stares unabashedly, and Keith turns away, flustered. “But it’s an interesting tradition, don’t you think?” 

“ _Optional,_ ” Keith mutters, but Lotor sees the hint of a smile. “It’s just something silly people do.”

“Our gift exchange was optional, but it brought us closer together.”

Keith scoffs at him, but his words are affectionate. “I didn’t think you’d be so childish.” 

“Neither had I,” Lotor admits, “You bring out new facets of myself.”

 Finally, Keith stands up, rising to Lotor’s shoulder. He looks once at the mistletoe and once at Lotor’s lips, then quirks an eyebrow expectantly. _What are you waiting for?_ his gaze conveys, piercing despite the blush high on his cheeks.

“Mistletoe romances suggest that the shorter party should tiptoe,” Lotor points out. Keith rolls his eyes and grabs the neck of his sweater with both hands, pulling him down into a kiss.

Crashing against each other, they forge their own romance.

**Author's Note:**

> For **Prince and Knight's** Secret Santa 2017 Event,  
>  a gift to Sunny.


End file.
